Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.
Luke 24:5-6
There is a house just to the west of Nashville, on the banks of the South Harpeth River. My mother’s friend Mary had her eye on it, and she was all set to buy the place when something about the deal fell through. Mama lent her the money to bridge the gap and insisted Mary keep it, so Mama always had a bed there. They were two peas in a pod, both practicing an eclectic spirituality that could have easily incorporated words of the Prophet, the Buddha, the Zohar, and the Psalms (with a heavy smudge stick of sage to keep things grounded).
When my mother died, it took a couple of days to track down another one of her friends. When we finally got on the phone, she did not ask my how Mama was, she asked me where she was. “Gone,” was all I could say. I don’t think either one of us spoke for a couple of minutes. Neither of us knew where to begin looking.
Mary Magdalene and her companions think they know where to go. Amidst all the pain and grief of the crucifixion, they at least have the assurance that they can tend to the body of Jesus. It is right there in the tomb.
Until it is not.
The sudden disorientation must have left them staggering. There are two angels present to remind them how every word Jesus said about what was going to happen has turned out to be absolutely true, but can they really comprehend that? It may take a minute, or an hour, or a lifetime to fully wrap your head around something so unimaginable. It may take a minute to stop looking for life in a tomb.
Mama used to sing a lot. The farther down the road I get, the more I recognize her in the songs that I sing: songs that she sang and songs that she probably never heard. At least not in this lifetime. She lives in the music of my life and in the records I love. She also lives in the places she loved. They are like little Galilees where I am called to return. When I can’t find her, the songs remind me to meet her at Mary’s Place. We’re gonna have a party.